oicism any Choctaw brave daring the stake might envy. She nodded to
me gaily, and I stopped to touch her hand.

"Where is M. de Greville? Is he not to be with us this afternoon?"

I looked her in the face, wondering, for could she not answer her own
question far better than I? She read my meaning, but her glance never
wavered.

"Ah! There he is, among the gentlemen. I feared he found Sceaux too
dull after Paris, and he had promised us a bit of his work. You know
he composes famous verses to some fair and distant inamorata."

"Indeed, Madame, I suspected not his talents," I replied. Our
conversation lagged, for the programme had already commenced, and we
gave our attention to the reading of some curious letters, said to have
been written by two Persians of distinction then traveling in Europe,
which were being published anonymously in Paris. At first, I could not
bring myself to listen to such twaddle, dubiously moral, which, under
the guise of light, small talk, struck at the foundations of
government, religious beliefs, and all which I had before held sacred.
Listening only to contradict, I grew interested in spite of myself, and
only at some allusion more than usually out of place, as it seemed to
me, among so many ladies, did I take my eyes from the reader's
countenance, and suffer them to roam about the company.

Feeling again the subtle influence of Agnes' gaze fixed full upon me,
it caused my cheeks to flush, my knees to quake, and verily, my legs
were as like to carry me away as to sustain me where I leaned against a
tree. The girl was looking straight at me; I dared not return her
stare which had something more than mere curiosity in it, and disturbed
me greatly.

The reading was finished without my knowledge, a piece of buffoonery,
or play acting gone through with, which I did not see, when my own
name, called by Madame, brought me to my proper good sense again.

I found myself, before I was quite aware, bending before Madame and
receiving her command that I should do something for the amusement of
the company.

"M. Jerome has favored us, you know--we have no drones here," she went
on pleasantly, "and it is the rule at Sceaux that all must join our
merriment."

"Jerome?" I answered in a bewildered fashion, for I had no recollection
of seeing aught he did; then I remembered hearing him recite some
languishing verses about a white rose, a kiss, a lady's lips--some
sighs, and such other stuff t